The Lost Potter
by rottingmermaid
Summary: It was bad enough she was separated from her brother, was an orphan, and kidnapped by a loon named Barty and kept in a trunk with a guy named Moody for nine months but now Grace Potter has to face a wizarding war and also...teenage hormones and human emotions. Ugh.
1. Chapter 1

So I've been playing around with this idea in my head for a while. Please give it a chance!

A/N I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter One

He was sure there would be bruises in the morning.

Harry had to continuously pinch his pale, almost see through skin to ensure he wasn't dreaming.

A great big and friendly man by the name of Hagrid had arrived into his life. And promptly told him he was a wizard, his mom and dad a witch and wizard respectfully, and an entire magical world existed with letter carrying owls, goblins and wands. Most importantly, he would be finally escaping the Dursleys in September to a place called 'Hogwarts.'

Harry thought, _'I might actually belong there.'_

There would be no more cupboard under the stairs, no more of Aunt Petunia's scornful looks, no more of Dudley's bullying, no more waiting for the next explosion from Uncle Vernon.

No more.

If this was a dream, Harry desperately wanted to stay sleeping.

As pleasant as it was, he could not escape the whispers.

'The sister-' they whispered at the pub.

'The poor little girl-' the woman murmured sadly.

'Little Grace, the wizarding world remembers.' the older man had said, pulling a young girl - Harry assumed who was his granddaughter – closer to him.

 _Grace._

There was something about that name. A whisp of a memory – which Harry wasn't even sure was a memory – was pulling at him.

 _Grace._

 _A high pitched giggle. Bright green eyes. Bouncy, curly hair._

 _A delighted squeal, "Harry! Harry! Play, Harry! Come on Harry!"_

 _Grace._

His heart raced just thinking about it.

There was something.

He had to ask.

Hagrid was explaining something called a snitch when Harry cut him off, "Who is Grace?"

Hagrid stopped, "Grace?" he echoed.

"People keep talking about her." Harry responded, "and I – I want – need to know who-I think she -"

Hagrid cut him off with a whisper, "No one told you bout Grace, Harry?"

Harry stared at Hagrid for a long time. Then shook his head.

The big man mumbled something about the Dursleys under his breath.

"Harry, see – Grace was – is – I mean – codswallop.' He cut himself off, muttering under his breath again.

"There wasn't just yer mum and dad in yer house that night You Know Who came for ye lot. You had a sister. Grace was her name."

Harry's heart stopped. He was sure of it.

 _A sister._

Hagrid was nodding, "Aye. A sister. She was – she was," Hagrid began but could not finish as big, fat tears began to roll down his cheeks. He hiccupped and then blew his nose loudly.

"She was a little sprite of a thing, she was. Always smilin' and laughin', always into somethin she was. Adored you she did. She was only 3 when we lost her." Hagrid made a loud, funny noise that sounded like a booming laugh but a choked, dry sob all at once.

"She's dead too, then? My sister?" Harry whispered, already forming an image of the young girl Hagrid had described. The giggle and happy squeal ringing in his ears.

"Yeh didn't know Harry? Them Dursleys didn't say nothin' bout Gracie?" Hagrid asked, shock flooding his features.

Harry shook his head as Hagrid began to mutter once again about them no good Dursleys.

* * *

He didn't care if he'd get a beating or go a week without food. He had to know more about his sister.

 _Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. His sister Grace._

Harry found Aunt Petunia in the laundry room where she was folding up Uncle Vernon's very large button up.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about Grace?" He demanded, rather hotly for a skinny, newly turned eleven year old.

Aunt Petunia froze in her spot. The only thing that signified life was a twitch in her skinny neck.

She didn't respond.

"I have a right to know that I had a sister."

Again, silence. Petunia did not face him.

Until finally, "Do not mention that name in this household - not under my roof."

Harry felt a rage he had never experienced – "She's my _sister."_

Petunia still did not turn around, " _Was_ your sister. And that's that. I do not want to see you for the rest of the afternoon and do not mention _her_ again."

* * *

She felt like the missing piece. Even more so than his parents.

A child who didn't have the opportunity to grow up; to become someone; to have likes and dislikes, to have friends and hobbies.

Harry wondered what life would have been like with Grace alive. Would she hate the Dursleys like he did? Would she stop Dudley from bullying him?

Would she like Quidditch? What would be her favorite lesson? Would she have loved him as 'Just Harry'?

Hagrid had given him pictures in his first year. He knew would she looked like. He glowed thinking that they resembled each other. She was tiny like him, with dark messy hair like his, and the same green eyes that they got from their mother.

In every photo she was smiling and giggling. In every photo of them together, she was giving him attention and beaming at her little brother with their parents looking down at them fondly.

In his first year, Lord Voldemort taunted him.

In his second year, Tom Riddle teased him with a boyish yet evil grin. Draco Malfoy had announced over the Great Hall that You-Know-Who had blown the three year old Grace to smithereens.

In his third year, Remus Lupin told him all about Harry's mother and father. Their personalities, what they were like, who they were. And while Harry was soaking up every fact, he had to ask.

"Did you know my sister too?"

A sadness Harry hadn't seen before danced across the weary Professor's face. He seemed to have aged a great deal with the mere question about Grace.

"Yes." the professor answered with a sad smile. "Yes I knew Grace. I am so sorry you didn't, Harry."

Harry rushed to ask, "What was she like?"

"She was-" Professor Lupin began but then stopped, "she was very loved."

Months later, Sirius Black sent a kick to Peter Pettigrew's face when he brought up the lost Potter girl.

"HOW DARE YOU MENTION HER?!" Sirius roared, grabbing for Peter's throat, "HOW DARE YOU MENTION GRACIE? YOU KILLED HER. SHE WAS A CHILD, SHE WAS JAMES' GIRL AND YOU AS GOOD AS _KILLED_ HER!"

Harry didn't stop him.

* * *

The lost Potter girl they called her.

Harry could still remember that giggle. It was more powerful then his memory of the flashing green light.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Thank you so much for reading my story, your kind words and adding me to your favourites/alerts. I was so excited to write this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter Two

"I'm just saying I feel bad, James. She is three years old and it is Halloween!" Lily Potter firmly stated to her husband.

James removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he gave a sigh, "Yes but we're alive and together. I think Gracie appreciates that more than being given candy by some strangers." His lips quirked into a smile, "and she still got to dress up, didn't she?"

Two heads turned towards the three year old girl in the living room who was currently sucking on a very large lollipop. She was donning a thick, very black and very shaggy one piece costume. A long, winding tail sprouted out from her bottom and on her feet were two shaggy slippers in the shape of paws. She still wore her black gloves even though James could detect flushed pink cheeks and a slight sheen of sweat. The sweetest part of the costume was the hood that had two floppy ears that were hanging down in the little girl's face.

Their three year old daughter stopped licking the lollipop, wrinkled her black, painted nose at it then twirled around to face her parents when she realized she had captured an audience.

"Woof!" Grace barked, then laughed wildly.

"Still sore she turned down the doe costume?" Lily asked with a wide smile.

"There's always next year." James smiled, staring at his daughter, his eyes bright and sparkling.

He paused, "Sirius is going to be so cocky when he finds out." He turned towards his wife, "You've already sent him pictures haven't you?"

"Might have sent one or two." Lily answered with an innocent grin. Her husband leaned over for a kiss, not being able to stop himself.

"I'm bored now. Going to see Harry. Bye-bye." Grace announced, waving with a chubby little hand before running to the stairs as fast as her little, fur-covered legs could take her.

"Grace, wait please." Lily stopped her.

"Why Mummy, why?" Grace pouted.

"Always with the why's," Lily whispered with a grin, "Can we take off your costume, please?"

Grace pouted again and gave a sharp, "woof!" She was sporting a rather cranky look.

"You can be a doggie again tomorrow, Gracie."

"Daddy, I not Gracie, I Snuffles." Grace said, pointing to herself and shooting a look of utter disappointment to her Daddy.

"Well how about Gracie go to bed, but then Snuffles come to breakfast tomorrow."

Gracie considered, bringing a finger to her mouth and making a loud and dramatic 'hmmmm' noise.

"Her father's daughter to be sure." Lily teased. James hip checked her.

Gracie finally grinned, gave two sharp woof's then turned back towards the stairs, wiggled her bum and proceeded to climb them.

"Take off your costume before you see Harry, love."

"Yes, Mummy."

"Thank you, darling girl."

James wrapped an arm around his wife as they watched their oldest climb the stairs. Lily's resentment towards being stuck indoors on Halloween was now long forgotten. Their children had that impact.

"Are you happy, love?" James whispered, his lips next to her temple almost scared of her response. All he wanted to do was make this woman happy.

Lily leaned into him and turned her head to grab his lips with her own. Against them she whispered, "So happy."

The two stared at each other and the entire wizarding war and prophecy surrounding their baby was forgotten. It all faded into the background.

Then a very familiar giggle broke through the house and snapped them out of their trance. It was followed by another familiar giggle and some babble.

Lily sighed, "I should go see what those giggles are about before the two of them are whizzing around on some broomsticks." She shot him a pointed look, raising a red eyebrow.

James put two hands up, "It was Sirius."

"It was _your_ Sirius." She tossed over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs.

James smiled, appreciating his wife. _How did he get so lucky?_

Then there was a burst of light, a blown door and everything changed.

"Lily, take Harry and Grace and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

He didn't have his wand. It was in the kitchen. _What was he supposed to do without his wand?_

"Avada Kedavra."

It was over. Lily knew. Her husband was dead. They had been betrayed.

But her children were still alive.

 _For now._

She ran into Harry's room, scooped Grace up who had perked up at the noise from where she was playing on the floor, and put her in the crib with Harry.

Grace made a noise of discontentment, "Mummy?" She asked, and then reached for Harry's chubby hand.

Lily didn't respond.

She started blocking the door with any piece of furniture she could move.

 _Not her babies. Not her babies._

Lily turned towards them. Her Grace. Her Harry. How perfect they were.

She kneeled down in front of the crib, staring at them through the bars. Neither child was crying. They always felt _so_ safe with their Mummy.

"Grace, Harry – you are so loved. So loved. Mummy loves you. Daddy loves you. Be safe. Be strong." She whispered.

There was a blast and a cackle.

Voldemort was enjoying himself.

This was _fun_ for him.

"Stand aside. I just want the boy."

Lily Potter had very rarely begged before, "Please, please don't hurt them. Please!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now…"

"No, please, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

"This is my last warning-"

"Please…have mercy…have mercy…Please I'll do anything-"

"Stand aside – stand aside, girl-"

Lily refused, her feet planted even with the sobs shaking her body. She could hear Grace yelling.

"Avada Kedavra."

There was a thump. Lily Potter was dead.

Voldemort approached the crib, a gleeful smile stretching his frightening face.

Fat tears were rolling Harry Potter's face. The girl was not crying but was staring up at him with wide, horrified green eyes.

Voldemort gave a laugh and reached out to touch the girl's springy, black curl.

"One less halfblood for the wizarding world, eh? One curse will take care of you both, filthy weaklings."

Voldemort raised his wand, the girl raised her arms to block her head in an effort to protect herself. Voldemort gave a grin.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

* * *

Grace climbed out of the crib when the scary monster disappeared.

Harry kept crying. She wished Mummy would get up and help.

Grace hated it when Harry cried.

She knelt down next to Mummy. But she didn't wake up. She held her hand. But Mummy still didn't wake up.

Grace didn't understand. But she would wait. Mummy would wake up eventually. Or Daddy would come. Maybe Padfoot or Moony or Wormy. Someone would come.

She waited. Harry kept crying.

Finally, there were steps; someone was coming up the stairs.

"Daddy?" She whispered, her voice cracking.

But it wasn't Daddy. It was a man who Grace didn't know. He had hair like Padfoot. But not pretty curls like hers and Padfoot's.

The man didn't even look at Grace or Harry. But he gave her Mommy a hug. But Mommy still didn't wake up. Even when the man cried louder than even Harry.

Grace wanted the man to stop crying. She wanted Harry to stop crying. She wanted her Mummy to wake up and for Daddy to come and for this strange man to leave.

She touched his arm and the man snapped his head towards her. Black eyes meeting a familiar green.

"Harry sad." She whispered, moving her eyes to her brother.

The man gently let go of her Mummy and grabbed her hand.

And with a _pop_ the tall dark haired man and little girl disappeared.

* * *

Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

Chapter Three

"He is truly gone?" Dumbledore asked to be sure of the news.

"Yes. The body was there...bits and pieces. Utterly destroyed and vacant." Snape replied his voice monotonous as his dark, blank eyes stared into Dumbledore's blue ones.

"And the Potters?"

"Just the girl and the boy left."

Neither Dumbledore nor Snape turned to look at the young girl sitting a distance away on a tall, wooden chair. Grace Potter had not made a noise since she entered the Headmaster's office; hand linked with Severus Snape of all people. Her green eyes were staring vacantly at the phoenix Fawkes; her shoeless feet swinging loosely over the chair.

Dumbledore and Snape continued to look at each other, neither saying a word for several minutes.

"Why did you ask me to bring the child here, but not the boy? What purpose does she serve?" Severus asks, closely examining Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had a power over Snape that Snape himself could not deny. Dumbledore could ask his former student to do terrible things and Snape would comply. While Dumbledore was Snape's redemption he could also cause Snape to forge a desperate path to the mouth of hell under the right command.

Snape wished that Grace were not part of the path to hell.

Dumbledore ignored the question entirely and turned his gaze towards the three year old.

"Curious."

"What is curious?" Snape hissed, impatience edging into his voice. Had he chosen the wrong man to follow, once again?

"What happened to her forearms?" Dumbledore asked

There were thin slices cut in both of Grace's forearms, both cuts gently dripping with blood. The girl did not take notice. She seemed not to take notice of anything at the moment.

"The wounds are fresh. The boy had a cut on his forehead. One could conclude it occurred tonight while battling the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore did not respond but continued to examine Grace from a distance.

"Voldemort has been vanquished by a boy mere months older than one with only a mark on two children to show for it." He remarked, lightly.

"What will happen to them?" Snape demanded.

"The boy will go to Lily's sister. She is the only relative remaining."

"Petunia Evans? You're sending him to that filthy muggle-"

"If you are to hate the woman, you will hate her character and not her blood status, Severus."

"She is a terrible woman." Snape insisted with a snarl full of anger and frustration.

"The Potters have been abolished; she's the last of the Evans. His mother's blood runs in her veins." Dumbledore stated lightly.

 _Blood was the only thing shared between the two sisters,_ thought Snape.

"The girl is alive. The girl is his family. _They_ share _blood._ Tell me, why did you order me to bring the girl here tonight but not the boy? Why would you ask me that, _Headmaster_?"

Dumbledore paused, and appeared to be in deep thought. When he spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words with care.

"The girl is safer without him." He announced, his eyes flickering towards the mute three year old.

Safety; the most essential thing in the war. _Love_ , Snape thought, _was a fickle, foolish thing_. It was utterly selfish and foolhardy for Lily and Potter to keep their daughter when the great, dark wizard targeted their son. But the two would have argued that the girl was happier with _them_ ; that she _needed_ her family.

 _But at what cost?_ Snape wondered.

Severus knew that the girl would never be the same. She was now inflicted; and the virus, while not visible, was deep and festering. The girl witnessed great bloodshed tonight. The scars would run deeper than the marks on her arm.

"I do not believe a wizard like Voldemort is gone forever, Severus. He was a man obsessed with power and immorality. I believe it would be foolish to entertain the idea that he did not take measures to return in the future."

The boy had also suffered. Voldemort was gone at the present time. One could argue that separating and isolating the two would do more harm than good.

"So the logical solution is to separate these two children?" It was in Severus Snape's nature to be argumentative.

"Careful Severus, you sound like you may care for James Potter's children."

"I do not – I merely wish to know why you compelled me to complete such a task."

"Is understanding your orders always of importance to you, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, an unfamiliar edge of sharpness and impatience coloring his tone.

Severus did not have a chance to respond before Dumbledore apologized, "that was crude of me. Forgive me, my friend."

The younger man bowed his head. He would forgive Dumbledore.

It was Dumbledore who breathed life back into Severus Snape.

It was Dumbledore who had trusted him, welcomed him and the first to show him true kindness in years since –

 _He mustn't think of that, not now._

Dumbledore was right. Dumbledore was forgiving, accepting and utmost kind on his very worst day.

And Snape…well Snape was a man who had committed terrible crimes and whose arm would be marked until his last day with the blind loyalty he had entrusted in a villain.

Who was he, Severus Snape to question Dumbledore?

But Snape's questioning had sparked something in Dumbledore who was now focusing on Grace's bleeding forearms intently.

"Magic is incredible, complicated chaos. If Voldemort is successful in returning and the boy fails…we will need a spare."

 _A weapon._ _He wanted this girl to become a weapon,_ Snape realized with shock as he gazed at the sullen 3 year old with chubby cheeks and too wide green eyes. Snape's black eyes traced the innocent bumblebee hair clip that had dislodged in the girl's disarrayed, messy ringlets.

"So you plan to use her as a weapon." The girl with the bumblebee hair clip.

"We will hope it doesn't come to that."

Silence settled over the two.

"Where will she go?" Snape asked, finally. "How do we keep people from seeking her out? The Order members will be enraged, _Black_ will-"

"Sirius Black is a traitor."

Snape was flooded with a sense of euphoria and utmost _righteousness_ at Dumbledore's proclamation.

Yes. Black. _Black_ was the _traitor_.

Snape was the one looking after Lily's beloved daughter. Ensuring her _safety_.

Black had tried to have the girl killed.

 _Irony._

"We will tell the world that she died. That there was one more victim tonight in Godric's Hallow; Grace Potter. And then we will take Grace as far away from England as we can. For safekeeping."

"But there will be no body, no proof!" Snape insisted. Surely Dumbledore did not think this plan would work? There would be questions, theories, articles. Sitting in this office was the sister to the now most famous toddler, daughter of the reendowed Lily and James Potter.

She would not be forgotten easily.

She was a girl. Not a misplaced object.

"There is no logic to how Grace and Harry survived tonight, Severus. It will be easier than you think."

"Dumbledore, the Ministry will not-"

Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him, "I'll speak with Barty Crouch. Only Barty and the people in this room will know the truth."

Snape gave a dry, humorless chuckle, "Stern, righteous Barty Crouch? Barty Crouch who is the head of Magical Enforcement? You believe that he will follow you blindly with this masquerade?"

Dumbledore nodded, "He will. As sure as you will."

There was a tone that Dumbledore was using that left no room for questions or arguments.

"You will leave now, Severus." Dumbledore stated as he swept to the far window, "you will leave and take the girl far away where hopefully she will live out her days and die at a ripe old age surrounded by loved ones. Then you will return and we will pretend this never happened as we mourn the loss of a great family with the rest of the wizarding community."

A pause.

Then finally Snape nodded and moved towards Grace.

His orders were clear.

Grace looked up at him with those large green eyes. Snape reached out a hand. Grace hesitated but accepted it. His large hand folding over hers.

Before they left, he asked one more question, "How do you know He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named devised a plan to return?"

He wasn't sure if the Headmaster heard him.

Then Albus Dumbledore answered, "Because I would have."

* * *

Thoughts? I really struggled with this chapter because I knew how important it was for the story. I tried to make it as logical and unique as possible. Which is not easy because my idea coming into this story was "Harry will have a sister and she will be introduced when kidnapped by Barty." I knew what I didn't want to do - raised by Death Eaters, sent to live with someone in the Order, put up for adoption, etc.

Also SO difficult writing for serious/manipulative Dumbledore and getting inside Snape's head.

Any and all feedback would be appreciated and feel free to ask questions - I love it :)

Thanks so much for your support

-Amanda


	4. Chapter 4

A/N I have no claim to the world of Harry Potter

* * *

Chapter Four

"What they're saying," Professor McGonagall said, as the air seemed to grow frigid around them on Private Drive, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it...Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded his confirmation.

"It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of _Merlin_ did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Silence fell over the two as Dumbledore pulled out a funny looking pocket watch. He announced quietly. "Hagrid is late."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"Not these people?" cried McGonagall, "Oh Albus, they're horrid. I've been watching them all day."

"It's the best place for him," Dumbledore insisted firmly.

"But this boy will be famous! Every child will know his name – he will be legend."

"Exactly. He is far better off growing up away from all that…until he is ready…

And with that, a great rumbling was heard. It was coming from the sky. A light shone down on the pair.

Hagrid had arrived.

"Professor Dumbledor, McGongall – I came as quick as I could." Hagrid announced, climbing off the motorcycle.

"No problems were there?" Dumbledore asked.

"House was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before the Muggles came. He fell asleep as we was flyin over Bristol." The giant informed.

He looked at the two professors with a sorrowful look on his face, "Professors – I – I couldn't find the little girl - Grace. I looked, I swear I did but there was neither sign of 'er. House was destroyed but I looked, I did."

McGongall inhaled a shaky, anguished sounding breath, "Oh goodness."

Dumbledore bowed his head once again and uttered, "I was frightened of this."

Hagrid stuttered, "Do-do you think-?"

Dumbledore gave a slow nod, "I'm afraid so Hagrid, yes. I cannot be certain but -"

The bushy haired man gave a great sob and McGongall turned away from the duo to face the opposite direction. She could be heard taking measured, slow breaths.

Dumbledore took the toddler from the crying giant and brought him towards to the front step of number 4 and gently laid an envelope with the still sleeping orphan.

He then turned towards the other two.

"Let us remember James, Lily and Grace Potter as they were…together and loved. And let us wish Harry Potter good luck."

* * *

"Quite the night to decide to summon me, Dumbledore, quite the night indeed." Barty Crouch Senior said striding into Dumbledore's office.

Before Dumbledore could respond Mister Crouch was continuing, "The Potters are dead, Voldemort gone, Death Eaters on the loose and witches and wizards everywhere carelessly and foolishly celebrating. Everything is out of control."

And if there was one thing Mister Crouch needed was control. Order. Structure.

"Lemon drop?

Crouch threw the wizard a calculating look but then accepted the candy and sat down in the chair across from Dumbledore.

"Why did you summon me?"

"I must confess…I've done something terrible tonight. But I believe necessary…I do hope you'll feel the same, Barty."

"I'm listening."

* * *

In London, Sirius Black stormed into his apartment.

Dead.

James. Lily. Gracie. Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Harry. _Gone._

And it was Peter.

Peter betrayed them. Peter - tiny sniveling _cowardly_ Peter Pettigrew.

 _Peter. Their classmate._

 _Peter. Their friend._

 _Peter. The Marauder._

 _Peter. The traitor._

Peter Pettigrew had as good as killed the Potters.

He trusted Peter. He trusted Peter with his _family_.

 _James,_ Peter's greatest defender.

 _Lily_ , Peter's would-be-sister.

 _Grace_ , the first baby Peter ever held.

 _Harry_ , the little boy who just started saying "Wormy."

At the thought, all of the glasses in Sirius' kitchen exploded from his anger.

A stack of letters flew into the air from the explosion, scattering to the unwashed floor.

Sirius gave a curse, and started to pace across the now littered floor. Not caring about the broken glass, the shattered kitchen, the disarrayed apartment.

Until he found the pictures.

The pictures that had arrived just a few hours earlier by Lily's snow-white owl.

A few hours ago now seemed like a lifetime ago.

Grace and Harry's smiling, laughing faces looked up at him.

Grace, with her nose dotted black and her dog-ears flopping down in her face.

Harry, in his costume as a bright, red round ball.

Harry was running across the living room in the Potter household with Grace playfully chasing him.

Sirius could almost hear their delighted squeals of laughter.

He could picture Lily and James looking at them with their proud, parent smiles; their eyes bright and proud.

Sirius Black would never see or hear that again.

He would murder Peter Pettigrew.

* * *

While Sirius was beginning his manhunt for Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape was returning to Dumbledore's office.

But this time he was not appearing with a young child with gleaming green eyes.

Dumbledore and Crouch ended their conversation.

"Is it done?" Dumbledore asked, peering at Snape over his glasses.

"Yes." Snape replied, he was feeling drained. He felt boneless. His mind was swirling with thoughts and emotions, images of Lily's dead body flashing in his mind, Potter's mocking laugh, he could hear the little boy's cry ringing through the destroyed halls of Godric's Hallow, the feel of the little girl's hand in his. It was all too much.

"Did you take her far from here?" Crouch asked but he did not turn around to look at Snape.

Snape, the filthy Death Eater. Snape, the dark wizard.

"Yes." Snape hissed to the back of Crouch's head.

"America?" Crouch asked.

Snape gave a hallow laugh, "No, why punish the child more? I took her to a small Canadian island."

"I'll conclude the investigation tomorrow morning and declare the girl dead. Leave it with me, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore nodded to the official, a solemn look on his face as his eyes flickered towards Severus once again, "Thank you Severus."

Snape nodded back, feeling dismissed.

What was he to do now?

Before he left, the young wizard announced, "I made sure she still had her name."

 _Lily would have wanted that._

Crouch raised his glass, "Rest in peace, Grace Potter."

* * *

Thank you all so much for your reviews, adding me to your favourites, alerts and continuing to read this story. This chapter was a little bit of a filler but next chapter...we will meet Grace!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N I do not own Harry Potter. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Five

The man held back a gag as the scent of salt water and fish flooded his senses. The smell was disgusting; almost as disgusting as the Muggles that flittered by him, moving cheerfully and senselessly.

The man worked to uncurl his lip and settle his face back into a neutral expression. He had worked too hard to find her and today would be the day he made contact. He couldn't scare her off with a sickened expression.

He settled himself down on the rickety chair in the busy seaside café. Far away in the corner where he would have optimal view of the room and occupants with his back cozy against the wall. He checked his watch – 1:30pm – he hoped the crowd would fade away soon.

It had the day before, and the day before that.

He swore if he had to drink one more awful impression of what these Canadian Muggles called tea and eat that forsaken cod he would be back in Azkaban before someone muttered Salazar Slytherin.

But he believed today would be the day; the day he found the lost girl. The day that would reignite his position within the ranks of the Death Eaters. He would no longer be the wayward son of the Ministry official. He would no longer be the fool that was tossed into Azkaban; he would be the Dark Lord's right hand man _at last._

He just needed to acquire the target.

After an hour of perusing the stupid, idiotic and ludicrous Muggle newspaper called _The Puffin_ he heard the door chime sing and glanced over the top of his paper.

There she was. _Finally._

 _She was a bright little thing_ , he mused as he watched the girl practically dance into the café, _although perhaps a bit mindless_.

 _All the better to play with._

She seemed cheerful as a laugh escaped her smiling mouth, her hands fisted in her long, dark and curly hair as she tried to wrangle it into a braid.

She immediately started up conversation with customers at the counter; her eyes practically sparkling as she twirled about filling up mugs. The man could see a few heads turning towards her as they often did when a sweet young thing entered a room.

The man continued to watch the girl for a better half of an hour as the customers filtered out; many of them striking up a conversation with the young teenager as they exited the café. The girl cheerfully talked to all of them that stopped; she seemed to soak up the attention like it was the sun. She basked in the glow of their looks and conversation.

Finally, she made her way over to his dark, quiet corner.

"Hello," she greeted, her mouth and eyes smiling all at once. He hadn't seen a smile like that in a long time, if ever, "Can I get you a refill?"

The man schooled his features into what he hoped was a warm and welcoming smile despite the thought of drinking the awful tea, "That would be great, thanks."

The girl smiled even brighter and practically skipped away to the counter with his empty mug, her skirt and long messy braid swinging, as she sang quietly under her breath, "B-a-b-y, baby b-a-b-y, baby."

The man smirked as he thought this would be easier then he initially thought.

A pretty, too-friendly girl with straw for brains. He almost chortled at the thought.

The girl returned, a steaming mug in her hands. The café was empty now except for one old man still sitting at the counter. She placed the mug down at the table and to the man's surprise the teenager pulled out the chair, promptly sat down and leaned towards her counterpart with her chin resting delicately in her palm.

She squinted her green eyes almost comically, "You're not from around here."

The man laughed, "What gave me away, love?"

The girl held up two fingers, "I never forget a face" she put one finger down, "and the accent" she pointed out as she closed her hand into a fist.

She gave him another, sparkling smile that he now knew was sarcastic. She thought herself witty.

But he gave a faux-smile and leaned in almost comically as he whispered, "the accent gives me away every time."

The girl laughed, throwing her head back and crossed her long legs, "I suppose so."

"Don't get many Brits around here, then?"

Something flickered in the girl's eyes for the briefest of seconds before she responded, "No, not really."

He wasn't letting that go but schooled his tone to something light, "Something against the British? Aren't we common wealth here?"

The girl gave an almost sad smile and the man thought she looked prettier this way, she shrugged, "Fun fact - I'm from Britain."

He let surprise flicker across his features, "Is that so? Funny I can't place that accent." He said light heartedly, humor filling his voice as he leaned comically in as if the ordeal was a conspiracy.

The brunette appeared bashful then, traces of the confident, exuberant girl disappearing for a moment as she looked down and then up at him again through her thick and long eyelashes, "I came here when I was a kid."

"Really? When did you and your family move here?"

The sadness flickered again in her eyes despite the smile holding its place on her mouth, her hand waving carelessly about, "Just me – it's a long story. And I'm not sure of the details."

"I'd still love to hear those pesky details."

Her smile and eyes hardened the tiniest of bits and her fingers interlocked in her lap, "I'm not in the mood for story time at the moment."

 _So the girl has fire…or at least a spark._

The dark haired man gave a charming grin, leaned closer to the girl and tried to cover up the tense moment, "So tell me, what does one do around here?"

Quickly, the girl retorted, "Shouldn't you know?"

"I beg your pardon?"

The girl smirked, "You're a tourist aren't you? From another country? Surely you've researched?" There was a mocking undertone that her counterpart bristled at.

 _How dare she! Disrespectful little-_

He realized he had to stay calm, "You can't find the local opinion in those old books written by boring old men. Tell me, love, you don't think I'm a boring old man do you?"

The girl gave an unexpectedly daring cheshire smile as she leaned closer, "I believe the preferred _liberal_ term is _mature_."

He gave an _almost_ genuine laugh, "Well let's just say I would rather hear it from a pretty young girl than a mature man."

She gave the same daring smile but this time a small flush could be seen on the top of her high cheekbones, "It's a small, sleepy town. Not much happens to be _painfully_ honest. The ocean is pretty. We have some rare birds if that gets your engine going. We have that one traffic light that blows away when the wind picks up." She cocked a sarcastic eyebrow.

He gave a forced chuckle that he hoped sounded genuine.

The girl reached a hand up into her messy hair and gave a self-deprecating laugh, "Oh no, I think I crossed into cliché territory. Small town girl desperately hoping for some excitement, dreaming for more."

The man smiled as he thought about the excitement that would soon be coming to the small town girl's life. He tried to tone down the sinister-ness of the smile. His fingers itched to grasp the wand resting in his pocket.

That is until he saw the marks. He couldn't stop himself from reaching across the table and grasping the girl's two forearms. He held them together to see the artwork the Dark Lord left behind.

He traced them with a fingertip.

The girl attempted to squirm away but his grasp was strong. When the she yanked her arm back he finally let go. He attempted to compose himself quickly, he needed to calm down but the sight of the marks excited him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

"I'm – I'm sorry." He stuttered, licking his lips nervously.

The girl breathed deeply and glimpsed down at the floor, "I get that they're ugly okay?" Her voice rising slightly, "It isn't the first time they were stared at. But before you ask, no I didn't do that to myself. I'm messed up but not _that_ messed up."

She stood up with her now flushed cheeks and steely eyes. They looked fierce.

This was not going well. He couldn't take her now. Not with so many witnesses in such a quiet town. The old bat of a professor would probably be alerted and no one could know until it was time – until everything was in place.

He grasped her arm once more, "I didn't mean to offend. Truly. I'm sorry. Please stay and talk to me. I haven't had a conversation like this one in quite some time."

The girl gave an uncertain glance over her shoulder where another employee was still engaged in an animated chat with the old man at the counter.

"Please. I insist. I haven't had a conversation with someone like you…someone like me in a long time."

The girl gave him a wide-eyed, curious look.

Her company slyly reached into his pocket and took out what appeared to be a long, wooden stick. He threw a faux-cautious look at the men on the other side of the room.

After a moment, he tapped the cheap origami butterfly on the middle of their table. It could be found on every table in the café.

But this one sparked beautiful colors, came to life and took off in flight. All because of a tap from his wand.

The wide, shocked green eyes followed the butterfly as it zoomed around the couple until it landed on the girl's shoulder.

The girl sat down in astonishment.

"You're a-" She said, startled.

He cut her off, "Yes and you're a-"

"Yeah. I am" She finished for him. "How did you know?"

He gave a grin and raised his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, "I could tell. You have a – spark."

The girl smiled then and he knew his trick paid off.

"Sleepy as this town might be, you seem exciting enough. How about you show me around? I'd like that very much."

The girl donned an unsure smile; her fingers absentmindedly tracing her scars but there was an unmistakable spark back in her green eyes, "I'm not sure-"

He gave his most charming, well practiced smile that he often used with his professors and mother, the same one his father would curl his lip at, "Please. Allow me to make it up to you. I insist."

"Alright then. How about this time tomorrow? You can meet me by Charlie's Point."

"Who is Charlie?"

"Damned if I know. I didn't even get your name."

"Barty. And yours, love?"

"Grace."

* * *

Our first glimpse at Grace! And Barty! Let me know what you folks think. Also, please do not assume that Grace is a Mary Sue. Her true character is really going to come out post-GOF. I just wanted to highlight the contrast that will be happening and character development.

But please give me your thoughts. Thank you so much for your support - as always!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Grace Smith's mind was racing as she continued the walk home from work. Grace Smith's mind often raced, she had very little quiet time with that messy head of hers.

But then again, Grace _hated_ silence.

To the outside world she may appear as the ever bubbly, always chatty, _good old_ Grace. But that was because she learned from an early age that people _liked_ happy people. Not sullen little girls.

The lessons learned in foster care definitely stuck with you.

There were no photographs of Grace when she was younger. So she could only imagine the glum, morose look on her face. But she could recall being continuously told what a gloomy, pouty little girl she was which just made her more gloomy and made her pout more.

It took a while for her to realize the happy lesson, but once she caught on – she _caught_ on.

And so the first mask was built.

Then came the magic.

 _Oh the magic._

It wasn't enough that she was some orphan dropped in front of a church; or the fact that she was a _British_ orphan dropped in front of a Canadian church. But then she had to be a witch.

A witch in a tiny, Canadian town with only one traffic light and only a handful of others like _her_ in the entire province.

For the longest time, she believed she was a true freak of nature. Or she was crazy. Or both.

Even at a young age, Grace had tried with all her might to pretend everything was fine. To keep up the act. To keep charming those foster mothers and foster fathers. To keep her now infamous bursts of rage under control because things often exploded around her - _literally._

But then she found the Harts. Or rather, the Harts found her. A magical family. _Literally_ and _figuratively_ , Grace mused.

She was lucky, she really was. What were the chances? Canada didn't have large and impressive magical towns and cities, didn't have magical shopping centers, a strong government or its own magical school.

She had read about and seen pictures of America's Ilvermony and she even met someone who had attended. But Grace hadn't had the opportunity to go. Grace's foster mother Madeline Hart didn't believe in boarding school or travelling to America for education; like many witches and wizards in rural Canada.

In rural Canada, witches and wizards were scattered across the nation, hidden amongst the No-Majs with no real structure or order. Big cities had stronger communities but smaller ones…well at least they had a tendency to find each other.

 _Like Barty._

Grace felt a thrill.

Finally, something exciting had happened in the tiny town of Fortune.

Sure, it sounded like something from a novel. A mysterious, handsome man sweeps into the tiny little village. Bringing culture, and wisdom and _damn_ the guy just seemed cool.

And _different_.

Not the cardboard cutout she was used to.

She experienced a pang of guilt as she thought about Adam – _her boyfriend._

But it wasn't as if she would do anything with Barty. He was so much older than her. And she had a boyfriend (and she kind of liked the cardboard cutout…he was very predictable and stable and looked at her with such kindness and affection).

She would never cheat on Adam and she would never do something like _that_. And Barty was _old!_

But he was cool, and new and exciting. He was a wizard. And he was from Britain. Just like she was!

When she arrived home, only Jess was there. Jess was her best friend and for all intents and purposes her foster sister. They were the same age; incredibly similar but incredibly different at the same time.

Both were stubborn and willful, and equally intelligent. Which made for interesting arguments. Both were bossy as _hell._ Both believed themselves to be hilarious and their humor to only be matched by the other. They were fiercely competitive with a strong love of sports; and passionate and opinionated. Oftentimes, they could be found rolling their eyes in unison.

But their differences were stark and obvious. Jess was patient, and Grace was anything but. Jess squeamish but Grace was open and honest. Jess would think things through while Jess could be ridiculously impulsive and rash. Jess hated when her structure and order was disrupted but Grace was dynamic, fluid and thrived in chaos. Jess could be painfully shy while Grace would chat with anyone. Jess had the same boyfriend since she was twelve while Grace had been with Adam for…umm…six…no four…no 9!

Grace had been with Adam for nine months now.

So yeah, the two were different.

And maybe that's why when Jess asked Grace how her day was, Grace neglected to tell her about the man from the café and about her plans for tomorrow.

But Jess was intuitive and above all others Jess knew Grace the most, including even Grace herself.

Grace loved her for it, truly.

Even though Jess could be a major pain in her ass - _her moral compass_ if you will.

The moral compass was staring at her in a calculating way now, squinted brown eyes examining her closely, "Nothing happened today? Why are you smiling then?"

"I'm not smiling."

"Yes you are!"

The two teenagers had a stare down; brown eyes clashing with green as they often did. Both faces stern and unflinching.

But Grace couldn't last any longer because Jess' 'scary' face was just too good and she could see the girl's eyes water from her own intensity.

Grace broke into a smile as she teased, "I have a secret, a good one." She clapped her hands excitedly and gave a little twirl.

Jess rolled her eyes at her antics, but Grace could see the beginnings of a smile, "I don't even want to know."

"Yes you do!" Grace insisted.

"No I don't."

"Sure."

"Well tell me then if you're so desperate to share." Jess said mockingly.

"Nope, it's a _secret."_

And that was that.

* * *

And the next afternoon, without telling a soul about her plan for the day, Grace trekked to the secluded Charlie's Point to meet her secret.

Grace was sitting cliffside with her knees to her chest overlooking the deep blue ocean. In the distance, she could see two whales swimming. It was really a sight to behold in the quiet tranquil of the cove. She didn't think she would ever tire of the scent of salt water, the feel of the sun beating down on her face and hearing the waves crash.

It made her soul happy.

Grace might never know how she came to this island or what her life was like before. Sure, she had hazy memories. She could remember her father's laugh and her mother's smiling eyes. She knew she had a brother. If she closed her eyes she was sure she could still smell his baby scent. But she couldn't recall his name for all the gold in the world.

Grace tried with all might not to think about them. Because what good could that do? They were dead. And she was alive.

But she was missing a piece of herself; a piece of herself was gone. So while she was alive, she certainly wasn't whole.

 _At least I'm pretty, that's something_ , Grace thought sardonically to herself.

And she was happy she ended up here in all places.

 _She was fortunate to end up in Fortune,_ she thought with a smile.

Grace's thoughts were interrupted by a voice, "Knut for your thoughts?"

The brunette turned her head, "I don't know what that is."

Barty gave a chuckle, "You look deep in thought."

Grace turned back to face the ocean. Barty couldn't see her smile as she replied, "I figured that piece out on my own, actually."

There was silence and Grace felt tense.

 _Shit, was that rude?_

She brushed it off, and quickly jumped up to face the man.

"Find it okay?" She asked, cheerfully shooting him a friendly smile to make up for the pseudo rudeness.

He smirked back and she felt herself grin at him unwillingly, "It wasn't too difficult. It's very deserted though." He remarked as he walked around her and looked over the cliff. He seemed to examine the area for a few moments, "there's no one around for miles."

Grace nodded, "Yeah the town itself is pretty quiet. Believe it or not this is the busiest month of the year. Summer is tourist season but winter is ghost town. I mean, the town only has like 500 people so I'm not exaggerating. I mean I think that's pretty charming but there's like thirty people my age here and everyone knows everyone which is _exhausting-_ "

Barty cut her off with sigh, " _You're exhausting."_

Grace gave him an affronted look, "Excuse me?!"

" _Do_ shut your mouth." Then the man pulled out his wand and the teenager promptly fell to the ground in a pile. Seconds later, a _crack_ could be heard and the cliffside was empty.

But there was no one to hear that _crack_. No one to see what happened.

Within the next 48 hours, whispers spread of the lost Smith girl.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for your continued support!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N As always, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter Seven

" _But but - my lord what purpose does the girl serve truly? The-the boy I understand my lord but-"_

 _There was a hoarse, dark and almost supernatural laugh, "What purpose does she serve? You know nothing, Wormtail."_

 _The man named Wormtail began to sputter incoherently, "No-no my lord. I understand, I do but-"_

" _Silence! Stop with your stuttering. Tell me Wormtail, you don't feel bad about the girl, do you?"_

" _No! No my lord. I feel nothing for the girl. I – I just worry that too much attention might be problematic."_

 _There was another cackle, a mocking tone ringing through it clearly, "No one cares about the girl. She is nothing but a mere afterthought. But if used correctly…she can be quite powerful." The man continued in a cold voice, "_ _A kidnapping...one more murder...my faithful servant at Hogwarts...Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet...I think I hear Nagini..."_

 _There was a brief pause in the conversation until the same cold voice spoke again, "Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail."_

 _"In-indeed, My Lord?" questioned Wormtail._

 _"Indeed, yes," said the voice, "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."_

 _Frank didn't have a chance to hide himself. There were footsteps and then the door of the room was flung wide open._

 _A mixture of fear and alarm was clear on the Muggle's face._

 _"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?"_

At 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter woke up in a cold sweat with a pounding heart. The dream felt too real. The voice of Voldemort too clear, Wormtail's stuttering too accurate, the poor Muggle Frank's fear too real and raw.

But who was the girl? And what were they going to do to her?

* * *

There had been nothing but darkness.

The darkness had lasted for a very long time. Grace had no understanding of how long she had been…wherever she was.

She appeared to be in a small room of sorts; about half the size of her bedroom if her estimation was accurate. It had no furniture, the floor was concrete and she couldn't find the ceiling for the life of her.

Her last memory was on the cliff with Barty. And then…there was just darkness. She was amazed her heart could beat so fast for such a long time.

Her bones hurt. Her eyes were heavy. Her mouth had become so dry that she didn't even notice her thirst anymore. Her stomach had stopped growling a while ago.

When she first awoke, Grace thought she was dead and was obviously damned because what sort of afterlife was this? But then came the theory she was blind.

Had it been hours? Days? Weeks?

Would she ever return home?

Would her heart stop beating so fast? Or stop beating at all?

What had she done to deserve this?

Grace had begun to hyperventilate again. This would be the eighth time.

She was still breathing through it when finally there was a light from way above.

Was this it? Was it death?

It wasn't death. But it was Barty. And he was smiling.

She was hit with an indescribable rage so raw and fierce her body started to physically shake. Grace wanted to _hurt_ him. How _dare_ he.

But despite the raw rage, a sob broke free. A desperate sob followed by a desperate plea, "Please…please…let me go. Please. I won't tell anyone, just let me out. Please."

The bastard laughed and Grace cried harder.

The light began to hurt her eyes. It was too strong, too much too soon.

She leaned forward on her knees and stared down at the concrete floor. It was grey. She didn't realize that before.

She couldn't look at Barty. She was sure she would vomit.

"Oh little girl, I'm going to have fun with you."

He was laughing again and she could feel helplessness clawing at her.

"Where-where am I? Where did you take me?"

"Look at me when you're speaking to me." He commanded, his voice slow but domineering.

Grace clenched her jaw forcefully and she stared stubbornly at the floor. She inhaled and exhaled deeply several times before she finally moved her head up to stare at him. Green eyes clashed with brown with more ferocity than Grace had at the moment; if she was going to look at him she would not be a mewling little kitten.

She was better than that even if she felt herself die a little bit by the malicious, unhinged smile on his face.

"There's a good girl." Barty practically purred and Grace felt bile rise once again at the tone, "Don't worry love, you'll have company soon enough."

* * *

While there was no indication of time, it had felt to Grace that at least several days had passed since Barty's last visit.

Some changes had occurred. A glass of water now magically appeared ever so often. She now had a toilet in the corner.

But the most startling change was how slow her mind had become…how she could hear Jess' laughter but she was sure it was in that mind of hers…how her limbs were so tired she could no longer pace or even lift her head up fully.

Maybe she _was_ crazy. Maybe she had been right when she was a little girl and her magic began to show itself. Maybe she had concocted this entire thing – maybe even her entire life with the Harts. She was insane. That was it. Insanity. Simple, good old fashioned insanity.

Then the ceiling opened again.

Grace found the energy to stare upwards. Her eyes felt heavy.

"How's my girl?"

 _Sick of your dumb voice_ but she didn't dare say it.

"Come on now, beautiful. This isn't like you. Where is the sweetheart who talked my ear off?"

Grace gave no response.

"Answer me!" He yelled, slapping the edge of the ceiling with his hand. His voice resembled a toddler's.

"Tired." She responded finally, her weak voice on the brink of sounding petulant, "I'm tired."

"I have a present for you, Grace." She hated how he said her name. But her head became too heavy and she slouched down even further against the cold wall. She _was_ tired. She felt herself drifting off to sleep.

But Grace was jolted into alertness when a body, wrapped in cloth, came flying down from the opening. The speed slowed when it finally came closer to the floor. And the body fell with a soft _thud_.

Her mind felt clear at once as if this companion had a magical effect on her. She faintly noticed the ceiling closing and Barty disappearing.

Perhaps her new companion could assist in an escape, in overcoming Barty and returning her back to the Hart's in Fortune.

For the first time in a long time she felt a small amount of hope swell in her chest. She felt she had a chance.

Grace peered over to the newly appeared human – she couldn't get a clear visual on her companion. Whoever it was appeared to be large which made the swell of hope grow larger. _Maybe she could escape this hell after all._

She heard a groan and hesitantly crawled closer.

Grace could see a mass of dark grey, grizzled hair peaking out from the cloth; she gently pulled the cloth away.

What she found was a tall and broad older man in his sixties. But his face made even Grace cringe as it was littered in shocking scars and his nose was missing a rather large chunk. As she pulled the cloth away she realized the man was missing a leg. And when he awoke, she realized he was also missing an eye.

She was gifted a one eyed, one legged senior citizen.

"My hero." Grace deadpanned.

* * *

As always thank you for your support and for reading. Let me know your thoughts :)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

 _Denial_

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't real. This is a dream. I'm just dreaming. None of this is real." The young girl chanted, hands covering her ears as she rocked back and forth on the cold concrete floor.

"This is happening. It is real. It's not a dream. AND WILL YOU SHUT IT?" The older man growled at her, face fierce with annoyance.

The girl sobbed hysterically into her hands and ignored him. A quick flash of pity appeared on Alistair Moody's face until he schooled his features back into place.

"Well," Moody said flatly, "this can now be considered the worst kidnapping I have ever participated in."

Grace continued to hyperventilate until she informed with a shaky, unsteady breath, "this marks my first but it hasn't exactly been peachy for me either, mister."

Moody gave a bark of a laugh; "No one has called me Mister in a long time." He scratched at his whiskers, "Actually I don't think anyone has ever called me Mister. Although my memory isn't what it used to be."

"Among other things." Grace muttered not that quietly as Moody heard her and gave another bark of laughter. Grace flushed red with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," Grace began, bowing her head to the floor once more, "we need to get out of here. It's been _days_ and- and I need to get home. And Barty is crazy, what does he want with me, with us?" Her breath came harder and heavier, her tone more panicked.

"You need to calm down, lass." Moody growled a warning at her.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Grace retorted as the panic continued to grow and grow until her chest felt so heavy she wasn't sure how she was still vertical.

The man rolled the only eye he had left.

"Focus!" He snapped at her, "breathe!" He commanded. It did not appear to work so the man continued, "see that scratch in the wall there, girl? See it? Yes you do. Focus on that scratch. Focus on it and breathe. Don't tear your eyes away from it."

It had started to work. Grace's breathing eventually slowed.

"Don't give him the satisfaction, lass." Moody gruffly informed the teenager, "He wants to see you suffer. Don't give in."

Grace continued to stare blankly at the scratch in the wall.

"My name is Grace." She said after a moment, looking over her shoulder at the slouched man by the wall. "I don't think I introduced myself."

The man gave a rough nod, "Name is Alastair Moody - people call me Mad Eye."

Grace gave a snort, "People are stupid."

Moody gave a snort back as he repeated mockingly, " _Among other things_."

"Sorry about that." Grace said sheepishly.

"All okay." He muttered, staring at the ceiling looking for the millionth time for a way to escape, "He sure has us locked in tight." 

Grace gave a grunt, "So, how do you know our dear Barty?"

"Locked him in a prison once. After he tortured and killed some people. He isn't exactly my fan."

Grace looked at him wide eyed with fear evident on her face, " _tortured and killed_." She repeated in a haggard whisper.

Moody didn't appear to hear her, he growled out, "Of all bloody people to get the upper hand…Barty bloody Crouch _Junior_."

He composed himself and asked, "And how do _you_ know the little shite?"

Grace felt a shudder go through her body, "He showed up in my café. Told me he was wizard…made me feel…well anyways he tricked me. And took me here. I've spent about an hour in his company. I have no idea what he wants with me."

Moody was giving her a hard, scrutinizing look. Grace could see the wheels turning, "What would he want with an American teenage girl like you?" He asked.

"I'm _Canadian_." She corrected sternly.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Grace. Grace Smith."

 _Anger_

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since they had become Barty's prisoners.

And Grace had become tired of it.

"LET US OUT YOU BASTARD!" Grace screeched at the ceiling. "I KNOW YOU'RE WATCHING. I KNOW YOU ARE. YOU THINK PEOPLE AREN'T LOOKING FOR ME? HUH? YOU THINK YOU'LL GET AWAY THIS?! YOU WON'T!"

"Give it a rest, girl." Moody said, scratching at the wall.

Grace whipped towards him, "How can you be so calm? Weren't you Mister Big Bad Auror, hmm?" She knelt down next to him and looked at him with anger flaring in her eyes, "Why haven't you gotten us out of here yet?" She said scathingly.

"Why haven't _you_ gotten us out of here yet?" Moody retorted, bringing his face nose to nose to hers.

Grace moved away from him to stand once more, staring hard at the ceiling almost willing Barty to appear.

"You think I've just been relaxing here, do you?" Moody asked roughly, voice rising in anger, "Using it as vacation time, huh?"

"Don't be so sensitive." Grace admonished.

"No if you're going to insult me, insult me properly girl!" Moody spit out.

Grace ignored him and continued to stare at the ceiling.

"You think I haven't tried to come up with a way to get out of here? That I haven't looked at these walls, that ceiling, this floor and tried to figure it out?"

Grace continued to ignore him, her arms crossed. She didn't know her parents but she was sure their stubborn-ness ran through her veins.

"Now children. Don't fight." Barty had appeared above them, looking down at them like they were insects and he was the toddler stomping on them.

"Come down here and I'll show you a fight, you bloody coward." Moody said coldly, staring up at his captor.

"But you don't even have your wand, old man." Barty mocked with a smile.

"Who said anything about a wand?!" Moody roared.

Barty laughed in response, "I wouldn't beat up a poor old crippled man like you, Mad Eye."

"You are a coward." Grace spoke, "A spineless pathetic excuse for a man. You kidnapped us and now you're keeping us as your pets. Does that make you feel like a real man, Barty? All strong and powerful, hmm? You're _nothing_."

A look of immense fury clouded over Barty's handsome face. Grace flinched at the sight, her strength and bravery now lost. She moved closer to Moody.

"Let us go!" Grace yelled.

Barty cackled, madness now clear across his face, "Why would I let you go, sweet one? When the fun is _just_ beginning."

"What do you mean?" Grace demanded, a jolt running through her body. _Would they finally get a clue as to why they were here, locked in this prison?_

"Well I finally had a conversation with Mister Potter today. Quite the young, strapping young lad he is." Barty announced exuberantly.

The teenager felt herself sag in disappointment. _What did some Potter have to do with it?_

Barty was watching her closely waiting for a reaction. But Grace disappointed him as she did not have one to give.

Barty looked between his two prisoners, curiosity blooming across his face then a triumph look of realization. A slow smile started to cross his face, "You two haven't figured it out yet, have you?"

"What are you on about, Junior?" Moody demanded.

"Don't call me _that_." Barty demanded, face snarled in outrage. But the unhinged smile quickly appeared once again, "Tell me. Has Mad Eye lost his touch? Surely you've figured out who our friend is by now?" 

Silence swept over the room as Grace twirled towards Moody; the two stared at each other. Curiosity and uncertainty flashing across both of their faces as the two examined the other.

"I'll leave you to it then."

Their captor was gone not even a minute when Moody rounded on the teenage girl, grasping her arm as he yelled, "WHO are you?"

Grace's green eyes widened in terror, "I-I told you. I'm Grace!"

"And how do you know Potter, girl? What business do you have with him?" Moody growled roughly.

Grace stuttered, "I – I don't know a Potter! I swear. I have no idea what that madman was on about Moody! I don't have business with – with anyone!"

His grip finally slackened but he didn't let go but stepped closer to her. He watched her closely and examined her face, taking in her features and began to look at her up and down.

"You're officially giving me the creeps." Grace announced softly, looking away.

"How old are you, girl?"

"I'm 16."

"When's your birthday?"

"I-I don't know."

"You don't know your own birthday? Where in Canada are you from?"

"Um a – a tiny town called Fortune it's-"

"That's a lie. Tell me the truth."

"That IS the truth!"

"No it isn't."

"Well-I –I didn't always live there. I was only three when I showed up at the convent. I don't know where I came from okay? But it wasn't Canada. I-I had a British accent. That's what my social worker told me anyways. I didn't speak normally."

There was a long beat. Moody didn't break eye contact with the girl. His face stone cold as he looked deep into her eyes.

 _Her eyes. He had seen them before. And that hair. That tangly, wild hair._

"When did you arrive in Fortune?" Moody asked, his voice steely and hard.

"November 1st."

"Where are your parents?"

"They weren't with me. I'm an orphan, I guess."

Moody opened his mouth to speak but closed it, silencing himself. Until his attention was robbed by the sight of Grace's forearm. He grabbed it, turning it upwards and leaning in close.

Grace didn't struggle but watched the man closely.

Moody stepped back, let go of Grace's arm and looked at her face on.

"I know who you are."

"You do?"

"Grace Potter." 


End file.
